My sketch pad, new, empty, unpainted in,
Was somewhere under the pile of stuff,
It’s almost lost, just like my inspiration,
I know where it is, I can point at it,
Just can’t reach it, catch it, box it up in me.

The half empty paint bottles are scattered on the floor,
Right next to the incomplete portrait,
The portrait of the real me,
Pieces missing, face devoid of emotions,
Messing me up, pushing me back into the darkness.

The rain pouring, clearing off the dirt,
On the windows and the world outside,
While I hope something similar happens,
So my insides are cleared, opening me up,
To possibility, to success and failures.

I missed out on a lot of things,
The beauty of the nature, of people,
In happiness, in helping, in kindness,
Something my irritation, frustration and annoyance,
Shielded, perfectly, keeping me out.

The day the portrait is completed,
Is the day I move on, the day I open myself,
The happiest day, the brightest day,
The beginning to my forever, that’s seems lost,
My one true dream!